


Kissed By Fire

by Dtour5150



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Epic Battles, F/M, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Knights - Freeform, Medieval, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-22 13:38:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12482868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dtour5150/pseuds/Dtour5150
Summary: After the disastrous yet victorious Battle of the Blackwater, the Tyrell caravan arrives at King's Landing, bearing in it the Ladies Olenna and Margaery Tyrell, and, much to Cersei's irritation, her cousin Selse. She must quickly hatch a plan to marry off her sweet cousin, but to whom, she must decide, while at the same time make the arrangements for her sweet boy king Jofferey's wedding to Margaery.





	1. Cersei

**Author's Note:**

> W.I.P
> 
> *I do not own any of the characters unless they are OC's*
> 
> *Some characters, timelines, and situations may be altered from the original universe canon.*

     Cersei sipped her wine, sneering just a bit through curled lips as she sat at a small, richly ornamented table in her chambers, re-reading the tiny scroll or parchment that had just been delivered to her.

     _So, my dear sweet cousin is to come join her weakling brother and meddling uncle. Father will at least be pleased._ She thought to herself, not sharing in that sentiment for the visit. All she wanted right now was Jaime, all she ever wanted was her twin, her other half, her everything. She sighed and leaned back, eyes closed, feeling a headache coming on. She relished the second part of the message even less than the first bit of news. Tyrells, in _her_ castle! _Well, I suppose it is a necessary evil. They_ did _come to our aid after the Battle of Blackwater when we needed it. But must we suffer that foul old woman! I am not looking forward to seeing her, her fluttering little group of tawdry ladies, or her scheming granddaughter, betrothed to my son! My precious boy._

     That her cousin was fostered at Highgarden with that foul-tempered woman did not set her mind at ease either. The Lady Olenna, mother to Mace Tyrell, the ruler of Highgarden, also called The Queen of Thorns, but never to her face, of course. Always whispered in her wake, she is infamous for her attitude and poise. She does not look forward to seeing how that woman has rubbed off on the Lady her niece Selse Lannister, whom she never particularly liked in the first place. Sure, her brother Lancel has his uses, particularly when Jaime was away and she needed a bed warmed, but otherwise he is a weak, easily manipulated, soft boy.

     Selse, however, is an entirely different matter. Always strong-willed, never acted the proper lady as she was taught, always at the mercy of her father  Ser Kevan’s discipline, and Cersei’s own father, the legendary Lord Tywin’s scorn, always disheveled as a child, though not without a pretty face, brown of hair, not the gold-spun locks typical of Lannisters, always trying to fit in with the boys, trying to swing a sword like the boys, she has neither the poise nor the stock to be worthy of the name _Lannister_. _No, that proud lion my father had brought up from nothing is not worthy of that wench._

     Pity it was when that burning beam trapped her as the stables collapsed around her.

 

     She smiled at the memory, relishing the day, the way those emerald green eyes that had always been just a little brighter than hers had filled with fear as the beam blazed on top of her, how the young girl-having only just seen her 8th name-day-had reached out to a piteous Cersei, pleading. The feeling of victory that had come over her as the stable collapsed, thus erasing the girl from her sight and from the earth.

 

So she thought.

 

     Unfortunately, the fire was put out, and two of her father Tywin’s knights had plunged in to the inferno, very valiantly saving the poor thing, but of course, it would have been a mercy to let her burn. The scars, easily hidden now but no so then, that wrinkled and rumpled the small of her back, across her shoulders, and the backs of her legs where the main beam and other debris had left their marks, were hideous to look upon. Everyone knew about them. This made it quite difficult for her sweet cousin to be married off to a worthy man. No Lord or knight of proper standing wanted damaged goods like that, and the accident only served to make her even more insolent than before, the hate that had bloomed between the cousins since birth practically exploding to a deep, treacherous ocean. She was certain Selse knew that Cerci had orchestrated the fire; she knew that Cersei had had the oil lamp knocked over on to a perfectly placed pile of fodder for the horses. She knew that Cersei knew exactly when she was going out to hawk with the boys, much to Ser Kevan’s dismay. It was a small concession to make to such a strong-willed girl, and how she had always loved hawking with the other knights!

     Cersei grinned and called her maid for more wine. The girl nearly tripped over herself and toppled on to the stone floor, spilling the fine Arbor gold she bore. She scowled at the girl as she picked herself up, poured with shaking hands, then left the flagon, dismissed by a deft flick of Cersei’s hand. She wondered briefly if the maid was a spy hired and paid for by her scheming imp brother Tyrion, and then dismissed it. It didn’t matter. He’ll be dealt with soon enough, and so will that timid little Stark bitch. She sipped the wine thoughtfully. She’ll have to figure out a way to get Selse out of her hair as well. It is improper for such a woman-even such one that is unworthy of the name Lannister, in her eyes-to be an unmarried maid. Yes, she’ll have to find a suitable match for her, and soon, to temper that attitude she surly now carries.


	2. Tyrion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Bronn meet the Tyrell caravan with an honor guard in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> W.I.P

     “Lady Olenna of Highgarden! We of houses Lannister and Baratheon of King’s Landing, welcome you and all of your knights and guests alike!” The large voice of the unnaturally small Tyrion Lannister rang out over both the travelling column and the honor guard.

     There was a rustling of knights, and a small commotion behind the large wheelhouse that no doubt held the Lady and all of her attending ladies, and suddenly a small, though proud, wrinkled prune of a woman clad in soft green silks, with a matching scarf over her hair, made an appearance.

     “Yes, yes, thank you Lord Tyrion. Of course, the Queen Regent or her brother were too busy to come see us in themselves, yes? Please, these old bones have grown tired of this road life. Let us hurry it up to the castle, and we can make proper introductions there, yes? Right? Good. Let us be off, then.”  
     She disappeared back in to the wheelhouse, which a knight deftly clicked closed again, and the party was on their way. Tyrion signaled his meager honor guard-only 30 of the city watch, all that Cersei in her wisdom had allowed him to take-to turn about and lead back in to the city. _The Queen of Thornes, indeed,_ he thought to himself with a wan smile, despite the cramping in his stunted legs from being in the saddle for so long, awaiting the Lady. _Oh won’t my dear sweet sister be pleased._

     In truth, he was excited to see his cousin again. Selse, much like his own brother Jaime, had always been most kind to him. They bonded well over their short years together before that terrible accident, before she was sent to be fostered at Highgarden to heal and to learn proper courtly manners, and in that bond, there was a mutual dislike for the world that had rejected them. He had taught her many things, tried to impart as much wisdom to her as he could during their time together, as well as through sparse correspondence over the years-whenever they could manage it-and he surely hoped that she would remain his friend, even after all this time.

     A rough voice broke his reverie. “What’s got you smiling like a damn loon then, mi’lord?”  
     Tyrion shrugged it off and turned to his hired cutthroat-now Captain of the City Watch-Bronn. “Oh, you know, just women. The usual for a filthy little lust-filled imp like me, as my father so lovingly reminds me from time to time.”  
     A wide grin broke out across Bronn’s rough-hewn face. “Ah yeah, women. You think any of these Highgarden Ladies will be easy game for a rouge like me? Probably all of them.” His grin widened more, and he broke in to a throaty laugh.

     Tyrion shook his head. “Just as long as the Ladies are not those of Margaery, betrothed of our boy King and my nephew Joffery, or that of Selse, my dear sweet cousin.”  
     Bronn considered, then nodded. “Fair enough. You know who could use a good roll, I’d say? The Lady Olenna. She seems like the type that could use a good lay. Might make her a little less of an angry hag!”

     At this, Tyrion and Bronn shared a good chuckle. He reached over and clapped Bronn’s arm-his shoulder was but a bit too high for him to reach-and gave it a friendly squeeze. “Dear Bronn, if you manage to slip in to the Queen of Thornes’ bedchamber and give her a good poke, well, I’ll give you all the gold in Casterly Rock, and convince my nephew to name you a proper knight!”

     Bronn smirked. “Now don’t go making promises you know you can’t keep there, little man.”  
     Tyrion feigned outrage. “Why couldn’t I give you Casterly Rock? It’s mine by rights. Tywin will have to give it to someone. My sister is a woman, and my brother Jaime a kingsguard, sworn to never marry, have children, or hold lands! It is mine my rights.” He added at the end again, more firmly. They rode to the castle in companionable silence the rest of the way.


	3. Selse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Selse and the ladies of Highgarden are received at the Red Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> W.I.P

     The wheelhouse clicked to a rattling, sluggish stop when they reached the entrance to the castle gate. Selse wrung her hands in her lap unconsciously, anxious to see this side of her family, which she hasn’t been in contact with since her accident. Her cousin Cersei’s beautiful, bright visage kept invading her thoughts, that wide mummer’s grin of hers, those blue eyes shining full of malice as Selse had burned. The way she turned away as she had reached out, practically skipping away from the blaze as the flames encompassed her vision. An eternity had passed before Lord Tywin’s men had found her, cold steel-clad hands gripping her roughly around the arms and waist, the sickening, excruciatingly painful, slick feeling of her skin sloughing off her back as they pulled her out.

    

     She flattened out the front of her skirt nervously, hands unsteady, as she shivered at the memory. She closed her eyes against it.

 

     A gnarled hand found its way on to her shaking ones, squeezing gently. She opened her eyes to see her foster, Lady Olenna, gazing at her, smiling.

     “Child, nothing will happen to you whilst you are here. I will make sure of it, though I am sure you could hold your own against some of these _knights_. I don’t trust that scheming creature Cersei. Your uncle being here bodes well to that, he’ll be able to execute some manner of control over her.” Lady Olenna removed her hand and sat back, nodding to herself. “Don’t you worry. You and my granddaughter are the most precious things to me. Yes, yes I can feel love, despite what they say about me.”

     Selse smiled at the Lady, then swept a look through the rest of the wheelhouse, trying her best to calm down as the rest of the Lady’s party, and Margaery, beamed at her comfortingly. _I will not let her get to me. I am stronger now. I am a better, more graceful woman now._

     She jumped slightly as the wheelhouse shuddered to a final, jarring stop, and the fine lacquered doors swung open, momentarily blinding her as the sun filled the lush chamber. She waited her turn and let the other ladies flow out, electing to stay back with Margaery and the Lady. She breathed, a wave of calm trepidation washing over her as she stepped out in to the sun, made brighter still from reflecting off the stone below them. As her eyes adjusted, she took in their royal welcome.

     Surrounding the wheelhouse in a great arc were at least half of the city watch of King’s Landing. Centered at the apex of its arc stood the other half of her family, all mounted, all lavishly dressed. Joffery sat in front, clad in a crimson velvet doublet with intricate prancing lions marching proudly across his chest in fine gold thread, black trousers, and fine gilded riding boots, all accented by the heavy crimson and cloth-of-gold cloak crusted with rubies, and an equally fine gold crown of intertwining antlers, also studded with rubies. Cersei was directly adjacent to him, accenting the king in a gown of black silk with bright rubies studded about the bodice and all through the delicate circlet adorning her brow.

     Selse curtsied with the rest of the party, smiling nervously, but when her eyes met Cersei’s, staring in to her like chips of ice, same evil grin on her face that haunted her in her sleep, her smile curdled, and anger bloomed hot in her breast for a moment. She caught herself, and quickly pasted the smile back on, so as to not give the bitch the satisfaction.

 

     _You do not have to sink to her level._

 

     Selse met her gaze steadily, with equal but polite intensity, and smiled. The boy, Joffery, leaned over and whispered something, to which she broke the contact and turn to address with what appeared to be great intensity. She took the opportunity to get a look at the rest of his Kingsguard, noting a round, cruel-looking man with course black hair leering at her, Margaery’s brother Loras, fine armor shining in the sun, picking out the intricate filigree of roses inlaid in to the metal, and her other cousin, Jamie, looking just as regal as the Queen Regent. He saw her and nodded slightly, smiling warmly. She returned both, as a Lannister always pays their debts.

     Her gaze flowed over the Queen Regent and King, then stopped again on an even more wicked-looking man mounted directly behind the King, glaring forward, half of his face a twisted, scarred mess. She found herself staring at him, recognizing him in an instant, and felt a familiar pain somewhere deep within her. There were very few who have not heard of the Hound’s prowess, of his cruelty, of his monstrous face, though, as she could see it even from this distance, she knew that the tales of how he became disfigured were untrue, for she recognized the pattern. He had been burned. The middle of her back suddenly felt tight and itchy. She looked away quickly before he could notice her.

     The king cleared his throat, and began to speak in a voice that betrayed he was yet still a boy.

     “Greetings, Ladies of House Tyrell! I humbly welcome you to King’s Landing! Without your help that faithful day, we perhaps would not be standing here, nor would the throne be safe! Please, join us within!” With that, he quickly turned his steed around, yanking the horse’s head around, and nearly lost balance as he rode up to the castle, the party in tow behind him. Cersei paused for a moment, her eyes lingering on Selse, before turning and following after.

     Lady Olenna flicked out a gossamer fan and looked around incredulously. “Well, what’s everyone waiting for? Off with it, then! Somebody get me a palanquin.”

     A servants scuttled to obey their mistress, nearly stumbling over each other to bear her while city watchmen clad in Lannister armor stepped forward and offered the rest of the ladies horses. Selse mounted up and urged her brown mare forward, moving with the welcoming party, taking the scene in. Suddenly, she spotted a familiar face and stature, and trotted her horse forward, trying very hard to contain her excitement.

     “Cousin!” She pulled up next to Tyrion and a rough-looking man she did not recognize, and beamed down at him. Tyrion beamed back, also clearly pleased to see her. “Ah! Sweet Selse, how you have bloomed in to a fine woman of poise! I have been looking forward to seeing you after all of these years, in fact, I-“

     The man next to him cleared his throat. Selse blinked up at him.

     “Oh yes, this is Bronn. This man has saved my life a few times now, is new captain of the City Watch, and is generally a man to be trusted. Bronn, this is my dear cousin Selse.” He gestured at each in turn across the girth of his horse. Bronn inclined his head, his blue eyes and smile friendly enough. “Mi’Lady.” He ended with a flourish of his hand. Selse returned the nod graciously. “Ser Bronn. A pleasure.”

      “Not too much pleasure, I hope. She’s not for an up-jumped cutthroat like you. And he’s not a knight, Lady.”

     Selse turned to meet the voice, and found herself face-to-face with her other cousin, Jamie. He was clad in his bright, pristine white armor of the Kingsguard, snow white cloak trailing behind his destrier as they clopped on up to the Red Keep.

   “Ser Jamie!” Selse beamed at her fair cousin. Like Tyrion, Jamie had always been kind to her behind Cersei’s back. He held out his hand, and she obliged him with hers. He bowed in the saddle and kissed it briefly in greeting.

     “You truly have grown quite lovely, sweet cousin. The Keep is brighter with your presence in it.”

     Selse blushed deeply. Tyrion chuckled. “Charming, brother. I was just saying such a thing myself! Our delicate baby cousin is now a delicate lady. I was just introducing her to Bronn.”

     Jamie squinted his eyes at Bronn suspiciously, but did not comment. “Brother, we’ve been told to return to the Keep before the party, to greet the Ladies of Highgarden in the throne room. Forgive me, cousin, but we must be off for now.”

     Selse inclined her head as the three men said their goodbyes and rode ahead of the column as the travel train entered the Red Keep. She took a deep breath.


	4. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tyrell ladies arrive in the throne room to be greeted by the royal family. Betrothals of an unexpected nature are announced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> W.I.P

     As the Tyrell procession began to file in to the throne room of the Red Keep, the knot in her tummy loosened just a bit. She allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible grin while trying to maintain an outward regal nonchalance, and smoothed down the front of her fine blue silk gown, embroidered with fine gold tread filigree down the bodice and arms. It was a gift from Cersei for this occasion. She knew that Margaery Tyrell arriving at the Keep meant that her betrothal to Joffery was as good as dissolved, at least Cersei herself had said as much. Sansa managed to squeeze out a few convincing tears, but she doesn’t believe the Queen Regent was fooled at all.

     The procession started to slow as the ladies of House Tyrell began to approach on their horses from the main entrance, the Queen of Thorns ahead of the party on her palanquin, laid out and fanning herself furiously, a general air of impatience seeming to hover around her like a mist. Sansa quickly glanced across the raised platform the royal party stood on in waiting at Joffery, looking quite smug in his lavish dress, crown slightly askew as he leaned to one side in the Iron Throne. Her heart suddenly filled with malice, but she kept herself in check yet again. She glanced back at the Hound, standing erect directly next to the King, looking gruff and terrifying as ever, and also quite bored. He frightened her, but she held no ill will for him. He had, after all, stepped in several times on her behalf when Joffery had one of his Kingsguard beat her, usually Balon Swann.

     Sansa looked over the rest of the royal party as the Tyrell women were now almost to the foot of the throne. Cersei, looking as radiant and as devious as ever, doting next to her son, a perfect match next to her brother Jaime, now sans his sword hand, but just as gallant and handsome as ever. Her eyes slid over the only person who did not look like he really belonged at all, their younger brother Tyrion. Small, stunted, grotesque, always drunk according to anyone else in their family, though a seemingly skilled Hand of the King. He looked incredibly out of place next to his siblings, nephew, and tall, stern-faced father Tywin Lannister, fabled army commander, richest man in all of Westeros, and a man harder than Valyrian steel. He was the most regal of the clan, and also the only one who could really control Cersei and subsequently, Joffery.

     Her attention turned to the dismounting ladies, and the huffing Lady Olenna as she was lowered from her palanquin. They were lovely, every one of them. She tried to pick out the fair Lady Margaery, whose beauty was said to be as legendary as Cersei’s. Her game was ended when Joffery stood suddenly, and with a slightly clumsy flourish, welcomed the party.

     “My ladies, welcome to the Red Keep. King’s Landing is forever indebted to house Tyrell for all of your help during the faithful Battle of the Blackwater, and for the support you have continued to provide the city in food and knights. We thank you from the deepest pits in our hearts!” He bowed to them in what Sansa guessed was supposed to be a gracious courtesy.

     The ladies all curtsied back politely. “We were glad to be of help to the kingdom, Your Grace.” A doe-eyed, brown-haired, fair-skinned woman spoke up in a lilting, pleasant voice in reply. Her smile lit up the entire dreary throne room. Joffery was also smiling. He looked briefly at his mother, then back at the woman. Sansa inferred that this must be the fabled Margaery. She was, indeed, as beautiful as the stories said, her richly dyed forest green gown, embroidered with roses of silver threads and speckled with tiny pearls about her bodice perfectly complimented her tanned complexion, dark hair which was held back in a net of the same pearls on her bodice.

     After a time, Joffery spoke again. “It seems to me that our houses would benefit from an alliance made between us, and for all of the help you have given the Throne and the Kingdom, I wish to offer you, Lady Margaery, my formal proposal of marriage to further cement the continuing friendship and alliance between Tyrell and Lannister.” He stepped down from the platform and reached out to the Lady. Margaery blushed, but did not immediately take his hand.

     She smiled graciously. Sansa felt a jolt of excitement run through her. “My King, you are most kind and generous, but it seems to me that you are yet still betrothed to the Lady Sansa Stark, who stands just there. How can I accept when you are promised to another?”

     The smile Joffery held faltered for just a second, and he looked to his mother. She spoke up. “Lady Sansa is the daughter of a traitor to the Crown, Ned Stark. The Crown would not benefit from having such blood seated upon it. Grand Maester Pycelle, this is ground enough to terminate the betrothal, yes?”

     The old man, who had been sitting quietly at the other end of the platform, cleared his throat loudly, then laboriously spoke. “Yes, it seems to me it is. Traitor’s blood does not just stop at the sire. It will run through the children as well, and therefore they will also have traitorous tendencies, which the Crown cannot risk. If His Highness so wishes, the betrothal shall be absolved.”

     Sansa glanced at Joffery, who was focused only on Margaery, then at Cersei, who was also looking at her, eyes shining with malice. Joffery nodded, contemplating.

     “Yes, traitor blood is not a suitable match for a Royal, and cannot be risked to be passed down to my children. My betrothal to Sansa is absolved from this moment, and my offer to the Lady Margaery stands!” He held out his hand again, this time with another flourish. Margaery blushed again, and smiled, reaching out and taking it daintily.

     “My King, I humbly accept your proposal.”

     Joffery kissed her hand and bowed to her deeply as a cheer erupted from the spectators in the throne room. The other ladies in her party smiled and clapped appreciatively. Joffery addressed the rest of them now.

     “Ladies, I hope your stay will be a pleasant one, that your accommodations will be satisfactory. Lady Olenna, we are honored by your presence, and hope that our houses will have a strong alliance after this marriage.” He looked over the party, and lingered on one woman he did not altogether recognize at once. At this, Cersei stood.

     “My King, before you, among these fine ladies of Highgarden, stands someone you could consider a lost member of our blood. The Lady Selse Lannister, mine and your uncles’ cousin, your second cousin.” She smiled at Selse, grin full of poison. It was an expression Sansa herself had become quite familiar with.

     She looked over the apparently lost Lannister, who, much like Tyrion, looked nothing like the rest of the family. Green of eyes, brown of hair, middling height, though slender and regal. She carried herself with much dignity, though something in the way she stood suggested that she was a bit stiff around her middle, yet had strength that was well hidden under her gown. She stood a little bit like a man, though with a feminine edge. She didn’t know why, but Sansa suddenly had fear for her. The look Cersei gave her held no love, and that frightened her for the otherwise beautiful, non-threatening woman.

     Joffery stepped forward, bowed courteously, and offered his hand out to his second cousin. “Ah, yes, Lady Selse! It is a pleasure to meet you! I hope that your reunion with our family is to be a pleasant and joyous one.”

     Selse curtsied like a courtly woman of proper training and birth, and extended her hand to the boy king’s, who took it and brushed his lips against it lightly. Sansa’s skin crawled.

     “Thank you, my King. It is a great honor to finally meet you, as both servant and blood. A great honor.”

     Cersei interjected. “Yes, the occasion to be more joyous yet! As we will be hosting not one, not two, but three weddings in the coming weeks.”

     Everyone stared up at her, unsure as how to proceed. Sansa felt the knot in her belly tighten again, tighter than ever. She suddenly wanted to vomit, but held back her gorge like a proper lady and maintained her poise.

     Lady Olenna flicked her fan open again impatiently. “ _Three_ weddings? What is the meaning of this?” I agreed to provide for one! My granddaughter's!”

     Lord Tywin turned his head cooly to regard his daughter. “Yes, what is the meaning of this?” His eyes sparkled dangerously. Cersei could only smile wider.

     “Yes, three weddings. As many of you know, breaking his betrothal to Lady Sansa means that she is now without a proper match, and though she is of traitorous blood, she is still entitled to a match fit for her birth. As for the sweet Lady Selse, my dear cousin, who is now also fit to marry, she is entitled to be matched as well, and what better than one made by the royal family that is also her blood?” She stepped down from the platform now as well, slowly approaching the Lady Selse the way a cat stalks a cornered mouse. Sansa felt faint. _Betrothed, again? To whom? Damn that witch and all of her schemes!_

     Cersei reached Lady Selse and took her hand from Joffery and clasped it in both of hers, seemingly lovingly. “Yes, it has been decided that my sweet cousin, who ought to have been married some time ago, will be betrothed to my King’s most trusted guard, Sandor Clegane.” The courteous smile that was pasted on the Lady Selse’s face immediately left her, her face visibly darkening as her eyes flicked to the beastly man still standing stock straight beside the empty throne. Upon hearing his name, he turned his head slightly and met looked at Selse, who just about fainted, and would have, had she not had a press of Tyrell ladies around her, and Cersei her hand. “Yes, you always liked to play with swords as a child, I remember. Now you can be married to one as a woman.” Cersei whispered to her, still smiling like a loon in her ecstasy. Selse withdrew her hand and regained her composure. Sansa felt a sudden flood of respect for her, even though they had not yet formally met.

     She spoke through gritted teeth, politeness laid heavy in her soft, yet firm voice. “I thank you, Your Grace, for such an honor. I shall look forward to it very much.” Sansa saw her incline her head at the Hound, and curtsied, perhaps a bit exaggerated. The Hound blinked, nodded once, and resumed staring forward. Sansa could see the anger flush over Selse, how hard her eyes were, how she was struggling to keep control.

      “It has also been decided that the Lady Sansa will be wed to my dear brother, Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, which is frankly a match a bit above her station, but one that will serve her well.” Cersei started to ascend the platform again, and resumed her seat next to the Iron Throne, smiling all the while, clearly quite pleased with herself. There was quite a bit of murmuring throughout the courtiers and Tyrell ladies present, not the thundering applause that greeted the betrothal of Joffery to Margaery. Sansa actually did about faint as she heard this news. She felt her eyes sting with hot tears at the horror of what has just been said was processed. She glanced at  the grotesque dwarf, who seemed just as horrified as she did, and felt herself fall to one side, only to be supported promptly by one of the Kingsguard. The world went black for her.


End file.
